The Email
by Riverjoy
Summary: Helga writes a mock love letter to Arnold that accidentally ends up on his computer. Now she needs to sneak into his house and delete it before it can be read. Will she make it in time?


**The Email**

Everyone watched the clock with enthusiasm as the last few seconds of the day ticked down. Finally the bell rang, signaling the start of an extra long weekend. In an instant every classroom door flew open on its hinges as herds of noisy and excited students stampeded into the hallway.

Phoebe joined Helga at her locker. "So, got any plans for Labor Day?" she asked in a small, cheery voice.

"Oh puh-leez," Helga said, shoving a book and note pad into her locker and slamming it. "Who makes plans for Labor Day? It's the worst excuse for a holiday ever."

Phoebe shrugged. "Some people like to take day trips-"

"Yeah, well not my family. Bob is probably too busy at work to know what _month_ it is, and Miriam will be on the couch watching reruns of _Cops_ all weekend long."

Phoebe followed Helga as she made her way through the crowd to the bus. "Your father is choosing to work on Labor Day?"

"When _doesn't_ Bob work? Beepers are his life. It's pathetic." They boarded the bus. A kid in a red shirt was occupying Helga's favorite seat. She leaned into him and sneered, causing him to scurry to the back of the bus without a single word. Helga sat down and tucked her hands behind her head, elbows out and feet propped up on the seat in front of her. "Anyway it doesn't matter because all I really want to do this weekend is relax...kick back...get a little R&R. Maybe camp out in front of the TV with a bucket of popcorn and a channel guide, you know what I'm saying? Yup, that's the Labor Day weekend for me."

"Well, would you like to come over to my house this evening? The weekend doesn't officially start until Saturday, and we could watch a movie or something..."

"No thanks Phoebs. I would, but I've got a meeting with Dr. Bliss. She says if I dodge this one she'll spend the next session singing _I'm Henry the 8th I Am, _and frankly, I believe her."

Phoebe chuckled.

* * *

As usual, Helga arrived at the office of Dr. Bliss wearing a brown trench coat and matching hat over her usual pink and white dress. She discarded them only when she was safely inside and the door was closed behind her.

"Hello Helga," Bliss said as she leafed through some papers on a clipboard.

_ Probably some snotty, know-it-all notes about me_, Helga thought. Rather than take the couch, she flopped herself down on an extra wide windowsill that overlooked part of the city. "Yeah, yeah, lets cut to the chase. Which semi-traumatic childhood memory will we be fishing up today, Doc?"

The woman wore her usual smile...small, slight, and all-knowing. "We can talk about whatever you like," she said. "But first I want to tell you why today's appointment is so important. It's the last time I'll see you for a while, Helga. I'm going away."

The girl's eyes widened slightly. "Going away?"

"It's only for a couple of weeks and then I'm coming back. I thought I should clarify that before you go and throw a party or something."

Helga sat straight up, her hands flat on the window sill. "Well, why are you going?"

"It's kind of a family thing. My sister is recovering from surgery and has no one to look after her. As stubborn as she is, she won't let me hire a nurse... So I'll just have to go over there myself and make sure she's ok."

A dark eyebrow descended over Helga's eyes as she remembered the stories Bliss had told about her sister. She reminded her of Olga, but with a mean streak instead of a clueless one.

"Where's _'there'_?" she asked.

"Florida."

Helga began to rap her fingers on the window sill.

"You've been making progress these last few weeks," Bliss said, changing the subject. "I've enjoyed getting to know you, especially though your writing." She glanced at her clipboard. "So I have an assignment for you to do while I'm away. I think it will help both of us to learn a little more about what makes you _you_. And it should be very therapeutic. It's a writing assignment."

Helga felt the blood drain from her face. She had shared some carefully selected writings with the psychologist before, but never had she been asked to write anything specific. _Oh please don't be about Arnold_, she thought. _Please don't let it be about Arnold, please don't let it be about Arnold..._"

"It's about Arnold."

"What?"

"I want you to write letters to all of the people who influence you the most, one by one, and I want you to start with Arnold. Write how you really feel about him."

Helga snapped into defensive mode. "Are you_ crazy_? I can't tell Arnold my secret, then my life would be over! I won't do it and you can't make me."

"You didn't let me finish," Bliss said patiently. "You don't have to_ send_ the letter. Just write it as though you're writing to Arnold, and give it to me instead."

Helga scoffed. "Yeah, so _you_ can send it to him?"

"Don't forget, Helga, I swore on my life not to tell a soul. Even under torture. And I haven't yet, have I?"

Helga grumbled. "No."

"Then you should know your secret is safe with me. This is only an exercise to help you understand yourself, and it will help me to help _you_ handle your deepest fear."

Reluctantly, Helga agreed to do the assignment. "Fine."

Dr. Bliss smiled. "Good. Now then, since I'll be away, and I'm still not certain for exactly how long, you can email your letter to me at this address." She scratched it on the back of a business card and handed it to Helga. "That way I can look over it and give it some thought before our next meeting. Promise me you'll do this soon, and don't spend too much time editing what you write. I don't want anything censored out."

Helga sighed. "Ok Dr. Bliss," she said with a hint of sarcasm. "I'll get on it right away."

* * *

That evening she sat at her computer and idly tapped the keyboard with a pen that had been sitting nearby. The page before her was blank, the cursor blinking, the words not quite ready to come out.

Finally she wrote.

_Dear Arnold,_ ...

Her hands began to shake. Why was this so hard? She had filled book after book with poetry, all of it inspired by the boy with the football-shaped head. But writing a letter was somehow different, even if Arnold would never receive it. Something about it felt strange and new and even...emboldening?

Slowly she picked at the keys until words began to form. Once she started it seemed to get easier. By the middle of the letter she was writing more fluidly, every thought and fantasy and love-struck observation dancing its way onto the glowing white page. Confident that these words would only be seen by the ever-understanding Dr. Bliss, who had been sworn to secrecy both by Helga's colorful threats and the nature of her profession, and having already gushed at the top of her lungs about her love for Arnold during their very first session, she now wrote passionately and without restraint. Why not? What could it hurt?

When she finished, she signed her name: _"I mean every last word of this, Football head, and don't you dare forget it!_ _Sincerely, Helga G. Pataki_". After that she filled in the address and hit 'send'. Leaning back in her chair with her arms stretched out, Helga vented a long-held sigh. She had only recently discovered the enormous sense of relief that came from confessing her six-year secret to trustworthy ears. People who wouldn't laugh at her. People like... _ARNOLD!_

Helga nearly fell out of her chair when she looked at her computer screen and read the dreadful message: "Your email has been sent to: Arnold Shortman".

* * *

The screaming had been heard across town. It echoed off brick walls and turned heads at the ice cream shop.

When the screaming stopped, Helga fell to the floor on weakened knees and had to claw her way back into the chair. "NO!" she yelled, clutching a fistful of hair with one hand and biting the nails off the other. "HOW in the world could I have made such a stupid mistake! I must have got carried away and typed Arnold's address by accident..." She gasped. "So, right now the letter that was meant for Dr. Bliss, the one that reveals my deepest, darkest secret, is waiting in Arnold's bedroom, in Arnold's inbox...to be read by Arnold's eyes instead!" She let the thought sink in for a moment, then steeled herself, switching manually from panic to determination. She clenched her fists. "I've got to get it back."

* * *

So much for a relaxing Labor Day weekend.

The bell to the front door of the boarding house rang just as Arnold's large, eccentric family was sitting down to dinner. The ritualistic squabbling had already begun.

"Now who could that be?" Grandpa Phil wondered as he leaned over the table and forked a piece of overcooked meat. Oskar swiped it away before it ever reached his plate, and an argument erupted between the two, complete with idle fork-waving threats.

"I'll get it!" said Gertrude. "Save some of the kill for me, will you Kimba?"

"Uhh...sure Grandma," Arnold replied, even as the boarders were greedily scooping everything onto their own plates.

Gertrude swung the door open to find what appeared to be a very short cable man with an oversize ball hat, big glasses and a black mustache, and one very long caterpillar eyebrow.

"Howdy, Ma'am," the cable man said. "I've been called out here to uh, check on y'all's Internet connection... Mind if I come in?"

The old woman stared and blinked a few times before a strange look of recognition flashed in her eyes, and she threw her arms open in a wide, welcoming gesture. "Why, it's Thomas Jefferson!"

"Eh?"

"The committee's been waiting for you, Mr. Jefferson. Time is of the essence! Won't you come inside?" She grabbed the little 'man' and pulled 'him' in through the door.

_Oh great_, Helga grumbled to herself. _Why did it have to be the grandma? Oh well, at least it wasn't Arnold who answered the door... Just play it cool, Helga old girl, and you'll be out of here in no time._

"So, " she said, trying to sound as masculine as possible. "About that Internet connection..."

"Mr. Jefferson, you surprise me!" Gertie blurted. "Surely you have better manners than that. First you'll introduce yourself to the committee, and then we can talk politics."

Helga growled like an angry beast inside. The crazy lady had a hand on her shoulder now, leading her into the kitchen. If she went in there, Arnold might recognize her! She couldn't let that happen. "Actually," she said, thinking fast, "I, uh...need to...use your washroom. It's urgent, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Gertie said. She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "It's up the hall and to the left."

* * *

"Criminy!" Helga said aloud after she'd reached the upstairs hallway. "All this trouble over a stupid writing assignment! If I _ever_ get out of this alive I'll _never_ write another word about Arnold. EVER. And not even Dr. Bliss can make me." She lowered a set of retractable stairs that led to the familiar red-and-yellow carpeted room, then hurried up them and dashed inside. Arnold's computer was on his desk and it looked like it was turned off. "Eureka!" He probably hadn't checked his messages yet. Helga rubbed her hands together. This would be easier than she'd thought.

"Did you find the washroom, Thomas?"

Great, the crazy grandma was calling up the stairs. When there was no answer, she began to climb them.

Helga flinched. So close, and yet so far! Almost tripping over her own feet, she hurried back down the attic steps and came to a stop right outside the bathroom door, just before Arnold's grandma came to the top of the stairs. Her false mustache was beginning to slip, and she fixed it quickly with one hand, covering this action by pretending to cough.

"Um...yes, I found the washroom," she said. "But I...I'm not done yet."

Was it her imagination or was the old woman staring at her suspiciously? Moments passed between them and neither said a word. Then, not knowing what else to do, Helga edged toward the bathroom door. When she was right up against it she opened it up and ducked inside, locking it behind her. She nearly collapsed at the sink, panting out of anger and annoyance and frustration and fear. "How am I supposed to get into Arnold's bedroom with that withered old _bat_ following me everywhere?" She wanted to scream again, but there would be time for that later. Right now she needed a plan.

* * *

"Thomas? Thomas?" Gertrude knocked on the bathroom door. "Hurry, Thomas! Your country needs you!"

Helga had already gone out the window and was clawing her way up onto the roof. She had thrown off her disguise and now carried a toilet plunger under one arm, which she shook furiously at the flock of pigeons that threatened to pelt her head with excrement once she reached the top. A moment later she was racing across the flat roof toward the large glass skylight which spanned the length of Arnold's room. She forced open the panel that was closest to the foot of Arnold's bed below. She had done this many times; she was a master at sneaking in and out of this place without anyone knowing she was here...and today most of the family was blessedly distracted. Maybe this would be easy after all.

Once inside, she couldn't resist pausing for a moment atop Arnold's bed. Sitting on her knees and gathering his comforter to her chest, she breathed his scent deeply and launched into prose. Then she slapped herself. _Focus, Helga. Focus! _With a determined look in her eyes she marched across the room to where Arnold's computer was and jammed her thumb into the power button. The screen came to life, but was solid black. Then blue. Then an animated bar at the bottom of the screen showed her how long the operating system would take to load up.

"Come on!" Helga growled. "Come on, come on, come on! Hurry up! How many viruses are on this thing?" Still standing, she rapped her fingers anxiously on the desk. Finally it looked as though the screen was done loading. She threw herself into Arnold's chair and raised her hands to the keyboard, ready to set a new world record in speed-deleting. But, to her surprise, the screen that came up was not the football head's desktop but a small blank field asking for a 6-to-12 digit phrase. It was password protected!

Helga's heart first sank to her knees, then jumped up into her throat. Perspiration beaded on her forehead as she randomly guessed what his password might be...

"ArnoldShortman"? No.

"PS118"? No.

"SunsetArms"? No.

She growled audibly. "Arnold loves Helga so much it makes his stupid football head spin"? _Of course not!_

She slammed her fists down on the keys repeatedly, forgetting for a moment that she needed to be inconspicuous. Moments later she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, first the set that led to the upstairs, and then the set that led to the attic. Helga dashed away from the computer so fast the chair spun in her absence. She had been heard! Arnold was coming! At the last possible second she raced back to Arnold's bed and leaped through the skylight window above. From the roof, she watched in horror as he inspected his little workspace.

"That's funny, I don't remember leaving this on," she heard him say as he stood at his computer. "And that banging sound... Hm. Must have been Abner."

Helga's heart raced. He was sitting in the chair now. He was putting his hand on the mouse. Now he was dragging it across the screen. He was typing his password... "ArnoldandLila4Ever".

Oh_, sure._

Now he was checking his inbox. Helga's throat went dry to the point that she could no longer swallow. Violent spasms wracked her body as if from an icy chill, as she realized she could do nothing now except listen and watch.

"Wow, an email from Helga." Arnold clicked it open. "Dear Arnold..."

The words came back at her like daggers, and she couldn't bear to stay and hear the rest. It had finally happened. Her mission had failed. Her life was over. She scrambled to get to the fire escape underneath Arnold's window and began to climb down. She wanted to move fast but her arms and legs were weak with dread, and they slowed her down. As she descended, her thoughts were forced to wander into places she hoped they never would. Now that Arnold knew the truth, how would he react? Would he laugh? Oh, anything else might be bearable, but not to hear him laugh at her! Before she reached the alley below her foot slipped off the metal stair and she tumbled the rest of the way, crashing into two full garbage cans at the bottom and sprawling to a stop on her back in the middle of the sidewalk. A few pedestrians paused to gawk at her before continuing on their way.

* * *

Helga didn't have the will to get up. Lying there with a banana peel over her face and a gallery of stains on her dress, she simply crossed her hands over her chest and closed her eyes. If there was any question before, she was certain she was having a heart attack now. _Death, take me quickly... _

"Helga?"

The voice came from above. Her eyes snapped open to the sight of Arnold leaning out his bedroom window, three stories up. She righted herself in a single movement. Then she did the only thing she knew how to do: she shouted. "Ciminiy, Football Head! Why don't you tell your hundred-year-old grandpa to watch where he leaves his stinking trash? I'm walking here!"

Arnold sighed. "Sorry, Helga. Will you wait there for a moment? I'm coming down, and...I actually want to talk to you."

_Oh man, this is it. I'm going to live to see Arnold Shortman rip my heart out right in the middle of the street! Should I run? I really want to... No. No! Patakis don't run. Patakis don't run. Patakis don't... _She turned abruptly and was ready to run when the big green door of the boarding house opened.

She pleaded silently in her mind as she turned to face him. _Please have mercy and go easy on me_, she begged. _Crush me if you must, but do it gently..._

"Helga, the weirdest thing just happened. I was checking my email and there was a message from you."

Helga forced a dry swallow. Her tongue was pasted firmly to the roof of her mouth but somehow she managed to utter, "Oh?"

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as his gaze fell away. "It was kind of a, like a _love_ letter I guess?"

There was absolute silence.

Arnold continued. "And I just wanted to say that..." Helga cringed. "...That I think whoever wrote it did a really mean thing."

She blinked. "Come again?"

"Whoever hacked into your email and wrote the love letter...it wasn't very nice of them," he repeated. "You should probably check your account when you get home and see if you can find out who did it. If they sent me a fake love letter, well, maybe that's not all they did. Maybe they did something worse. Anyway, I really hope they didn't cause too much trouble for you. I just thought you should know."

Helga stared stupidly into space.

"Well I'd better get back inside," he said. "It's getting kind of late and I still have some homework to do."

"Um... Yeah," Helga choked. "Thanks for telling me about that, Arnold." As if an invisible switch had been flipped, she launched suddenly into offensive mode. "And don't worry, cause I'm gonna BEAN THE DAYLIGHTS out of whoever hacked my account! A _love_ letter? To _you_? Ha! Like that would ever happen. I hate your stupid football head and your stupid little blue hat and your stupid..._stupidness!_ And whoever it was, they'd better not forget it!"

Arnold wore an annoyed expression and sighed. "Whatever you say, Helga." And with that they went their separate ways...Helga being all too eager to get out of there, and Arnold moseying back inside after another confusing encounter with his bossy, pigtailed classmate.

As soon as she heard the lock mechanism click on the other side of the large green door, Helga brushed herself off and started walking home, no longer afraid but completely and utterly bewildered at having_ somehow_ come out of this nightmare unscathed.

* * *

Arnold walked back to his room with his hands in his pockets. Once again he sat down at his desk. The message marked "From: Helga G. Pataki" still filled up the screen of his computer. He reached for the mouse, closed the email, and dragged it so that it hovered over the "delete" folder.

He paused.

He thought a moment.

Then, with the slightest of smiles, he filed it away in another folder instead.


End file.
